Monday, May 5, 2008Beijing
My mother would pass out if she saw me now.
The trike driver couldn’t find the Underground City, even with the map (admittedly, that’s the way Mao intended things—it’s a secret city, after all). Had yet another meeting of the minds over the Chinese map. He offered to get me there...for another 20 yuan. Decided to bid him farewell and wing it. Something told me we had to be close.
He takes off. I look around. It occurs to me that the reason we couldn’t find this place is because it’s not on a map.
Which means I’m not on a map.
Which means I am on my own. Not on a map. No boat. No paddle. No GPS.
A 5’11” Caucasian wandering through their hutong (a collection of alley dwellings) gets the attention of the locals. They stare at me warily as I pretend to know where I’m going. With confidence. And great acting. I mean hey, doesn’t every American tourist plan a fifteen minute trek down an unmapped nong tang (alley)?
My internal compass tells me to head west, then north, until I hit traffic.
Which I do. And it works. Fifteen minutes into this little side trip, I hit traffic.
Which means I’m back on the map.
Which means deep breath time.
Truth be told, I was probably quite safe the entire time (crime is pretty severely treated in China), but still. Not the smartest move I’ve made. But definitely a memorable one.
(Photo credit: mhobbs)
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